Don't I?
by fowl68
Summary: ...Don't I know you?"


_**Don't I…?**_

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing!

**Author's Note:** I got the idea when I was watching Sweeny Todd. It's my new movie obsession.

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"_The truth may hurt, but your lies kill me."-Anonymous_

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The man looked up at the person in front of him. The movement wasn't dull or slow. In fact, they were reminiscent of a shinobi's movements, sharp and suspecting. But that was impossible. The shinobi were a long dead relic of the past.

The person had blue eyes, with a curious depth to them. There was a lost kind of look to them, but intelligence gleamed beneath them. They narrowed slightly at the sight of him. "…Don't I know you?" The voice was hoarse and dry.

He inspected the blue-eyed person closer. Dirt smudged his cheeks, the full lips were chapped and a strip of cloth was wrapped around the person's forehead. It was nondescript, just a rough and faded charcoal cloth. The makeshift headband kept hair that could have been any color from the road dust in his hair. His shoulders were broad and his physique hinted at muscles that were there once upon a time, but from the thinness of the man's body, they hadn't been there in a long while.

* *

_He'd once known people who were that thin. Some had been girls that had tried to impress people. Others were naturally like that—like the genius one that he'd never been particularly close to and…the other one. The one with the mischievous grin._

* *

"Sorry, no." He grunted as he went back to his job.

The person seemed to take a minute to process the information before nodding hesitantly and ambling away.

He'd gone from job to job through all these years. His current one was simply working at a bar, but it was nearly opening time and he needed to sweep up. The task seemed so mundane after the years he'd spent in the wars. But he shook himself out of the unwanted memories. It had been nearly three decades since that last final battle of that terrible war. Shinobi had been passed off as myths since then. Kami, but he remembered the time when they'd been christened as heroes.

"_Everyone will treat me with respect!"_

How naïve they'd been. Did they really think assassinating and slaughtering people would make them respected? Feared, yes, but not respected. How often the two are confused. All the shinobi had gone against each other in one great last ditch attempt to cling to their ways. Everything had started to fall apart on itself. Friends turned enemies turned allies turned traitors. Everything had spiraled down after Konoha had become ruins. Everyone wanted the remaining power of the survivors and they'd just wanted to get away from it all. They were done by then, throwing in the towel.

By that time, they'd all been in the game for nearly all of six years. Some of them had been in it for longer. But they were done with the game. They just wanted to leave, forget it all happened. Let the other shinobi continue with their lives. Konoha had been the underlying support for the shinobi world however, and everything collapsed and the war erupted. He'd fought, found the mischievous smile once again, but now it seemed rather world-weary like the others although there was that spark still there that separated him from the rest. They'd gotten separated during the ending explosions and from that moment, the shinobi were considered dead. All the Kages had been assassinated in the turmoil, all sense of order eradicated.

Their villages were gone and no one seemed to be able to find anyone. Everything after that instant of flames and heat and ash was a blur, a blank. Dull eyes had looked upon the destruction, will nearly gone. The few that had managed to rouse themselves enough to try the life again disappeared under mysterious circumstances. The occasional time when he recognized other shinobi, even enemies and traitors, they'd nod in acknowledgement, not say a word other than simple pleasantries, if even that. They'd changed their names, had often used the names of lost loved ones because they feared that if they didn't, no one would remember the names Kakashi or Chouza or Genma or Lee. And the ex-shinobi always recognized each other. The faces had been painted in blood the last time they saw each other, but no one who was ever in a war of that scale ever forgot a face.

* *

"_Teme?" The voice, deeper and tired, had sounded almost surprised and nearly happy. It had been difficult to summon emotion back during those hard times. _

_He'd nodded, knowing no other words would be necessary between the two. They told each other not to die. The other wanted to catch up afterwards. It was the last time anyone had said his real name._

"_Don't die on me, Sasuke. I gotta find out what you've been doing after all these years."_

"_Same to you."_

* *

"Hatake! Get your ass in here and start wiping down the tables." The manager shouted.

He nodded simply. He'd stopped the rebelliousness years ago. It had never done him any good. He passed the manager who sighed.

"Sweet kami, Itachi-kun, but you seem pissy today."

"Hn." replied Hatake Itachi, seemingly harmless younger middle-aged man. He certainly looked younger with the lightly tan skin, ebony hair with the occasional strand of silver and the piercing onyx eyes. No one suspected him of being a former shinobi. Shinobi had never existed after all.

* *

"_You, boy! What's your name?"_

_The voices were so loud, even though the man speaking was relatively quiet. Sasuke had gotten so accustomed to hearing the nearly not-there footsteps and breaths of shinobi that ordinary sounds seemed so obvious, so painful, and too loud. Like he'd once described __**his**__ voice. _

_The onyx orbs tinged with gray looked up tiredly at the man. "…Hatake Itachi." He replied quietly. The people couldn't be forgotten, even if people liked to believe they were._

* *

The bar was a sweaty, musty smelling place during open hours. Sasuke worked behind it, cleaning glasses and serving drinks. The regulars had long since learned that he preferred to be left alone. That was the truth now. It hadn't been once. Once, it had been a front, a way to put distance between him and the people that might be hurt because of him. **He** had seen through it, had gotten close despite it all.

"What's a street rat doin' in 'ere?! Get your filthy self out of 'ere!" People were yelling at someone.

Sasuke looked up out of reflex. Bar fights were common and expected, but these voices were filled with hatred. Blood would be spilled unless they were stopped. The one person who had stayed silent during the yelling had probably once been handsome. Hair that might've once been vibrant had lightened to a pale orange. Too many piercings littered the man's face and Sasuke felt his stomach tighten at the familiarities. The man certainly wasn't a regular, but he knew his face so well he might've been. Pein, sitting there with a bottle of whiskey. The ringed eyes, still eerie after all the years, focused on him and nodded curtly. Sasuke mirrored the action. It was expected now, of enemies of friends. No shinobi thought they'd ever find another.

Sasuke let his eyes wander back to the brawl. The street rat had won out and another jolt of shock went through him. It was the person from earlier. The muscle was still there apparently, only in trace amounts. The blue eyes looked clearer and much darker now as they focused on Pein.

"Might I be able to help you?" Pein asked, voice as emotionless as any shinobi who had met him could remember.

A mocking, bitter smile cracked on the chapped lips. "The new world has changed me, but then I doubt that the face of a tool, of a-"the man whispered the next word so that Sasuke's ears couldn't hear. "Isn't particularly memorable to a monster like you."

The ringed eyes widened. "Uzumaki…"

The shock that was numbing Sasuke's body now registered. Uzumaki Naruto…the one jinchuruuki who had survived the war. Even Gaara had seemed to disappear into his beloved sand. The dirt covered the whiskers that had to still be there. The blue eyes were dark with anger, like Sasuke could remember seeing them so often and the cloth… a makeshift headband—makeshift hitai-ate. The lost look must have been from the events since the war. Sasuke knew the feeling. Waking up to this world had made him live in a daze for the next few years. Apparently, Naruto was still in that stage.

Two uniformed man grabbed Naruto by the arms. "You're getting arrested for disturbing the peace."

Same Naruto…always fighting. But the muscles in the once so strong arms had become emaciated in the years they'd not been put to good use. The men dragged him away with ease and Sasuke knew that his numb, paralyzed legs wouldn't be able to follow.

"_Don't die on me, alright, Sasuke?"_

Sasuke hadn't died, had forced himself to stay alive, clinging to that one hope of seeing the whiskered face again. Now that his legs once again were in working order he ran outside. It had been at least a half hour since the officers had taken the blonde, but Sasuke could only hope that they hadn't gone far.

He searched for hours, even at the police station. No sign of him. Rain had begun to beat down on the windows and streets. Sasuke slid down the ashy wall, too tired to even muster energy to get somewhere dry. A mass caught his attention, one near the trashcans. He forced himself up and crept closer.

The dark, dirt-stained skin was even darker with bruises. The eyelids were closed, shielding from view the sapphires underneath. The lean chest wasn't moving underneath the thin clothes. Sasuke reached out and gently wiped the dirt from Naruto's cheeks. Indeed, there were his signature whisker lines, darker than they had been the last time Sasuke had seen him. The pale hand moved to Naruto's neck, waiting for anything. Nothing came. The pulse was gone. A secondary glance-over of Naruto's body discovered the bump on Naruto's temple. They'd beaten him to death…the vibrant person that had lived through so many things had been beaten to death by the simplest of people. And now, there truly was nothing left of his family.

"…_Don't I know you?"_


End file.
